


Richie Tozier: Once a Loser, Always a Loser

by apple_solutely



Series: Maturin Estate [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, F/M, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Harry Potter References, I Tried, M/M, Mentioned Losers Club (IT), Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier's Stand Up Act, The Losers Club Love Each Other (IT), Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_solutely/pseuds/apple_solutely
Summary: Richie Tozier: Once a Loser, Always a Loser2017 16+ 54mStarring: Richie TozierGenres: Stand-up Comedy, ComediesThis movie is: Funny, WittyRichie Tozier returns with a sweet, funny, and deeply moving show about his friends and his childhood.(Can be read as a stand-alone)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Series: Maturin Estate [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797088
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	Richie Tozier: Once a Loser, Always a Loser

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a stand-alone

Good evening, my fellow sad fucks! How are you all doing? Crying? Getting absolutely shit-faced? Watching _Twilight_ for the billionth time?

If so, you fit just right in. Because anyone who comes to see me of all people—the biggest loser on this planet, tells me a lot about you too.

Can you tell I’ve been going to therapy? Like suddenly, I’m psychoanalyzing my crowds. Sigmund Freud got nothing on me! Nuh-uh. I’m just here, twirling my imaginary mustache, with this bow-tie, thinking all high and mighty of myself for attending a year of therapy sessions and believing that it’s enough experience to become a therapist myself.

Unfortunately, however, that isn’t how life works. Like can you believe I have to get a _degree_ to become a licensed therapist? What the fuck, man! I don’t have time for that shit! Have you seen the state of me? I may have a forehead the size of a planet, but there’s nothing in there! It’s hollow! Like that empty piñata my dad accidentally got me for my eleventh birthday because he’s just as much of a dope as I am.

But, now that I’ve collected all the laughs I needed—wow, okay, I sound like the Gentlemen from the Hush episode of Buffy. Collecting hearts but instead, collecting laughs! Could you imagine? Nah, let’s be sincere here, folks, because remember, I’m not a liar, right? We’re all taking a huge dose of veritaserum and coming clean—I say as I obnoxiously wink at the crowd for reaching peak comedy...

I’m so fucking lame. What in the world are you guys all doing here? Like, come on! What the fuck would your parents think if they knew you came to see me make an absolute idiot of myself on stage? I mean, don’t you all have standards? Shouldn’t you all be snorting cocaine or some shit? Nah, I’m just kidding.

Don’t do drugs, kids! I fucking mean it! Let me tell you that it’s not as fun as it’s cracked up to be—and oh yes, I’m winking again because I’m hi- _lar_ -ious! Hys- _ter_ -ical! Jeez Louise, I completely lost all train of thought. What the fuck was I on about again? Oh right! Being sincere!

So, yeah. Stan, my dear friend, you might want to cover your ears for this next part. Sorry guys, he always gets so fucking jealous of me whenever I boast about my good grades—and yes, you heard that right. Your favorite, four-eyed, beer belly of a comedian is a prodigy! I know, I know. You’re all laughing because you think I’m exaggerating for the set but...if you all know the new me, you know that I brought visual proof.

Let me pull out this folder for you—this super-sexy folder that my hunk of a boyfriend organized for me because he’s awesome. And now...let me take out and show you…every single certificate I got in high school and university because...once again, I was a prodigy. And guess what? I was valedictorian!

Huh. All those gasps make it seems like I just pulled my pants down and showed you all the size of my dick—which is a whole topic for a different show. Forget TMZ, you guys are getting the real scoop, tonight! Straight from the source!

But yes, here it is. My valedictorian medal that I proudly wave around while my best friend Stan attempts to be blind, deaf, and dumb during this bit because he hates me. He absolutely hates me so goddamn much—and I don’t blame him. Not in the least! You try not popping a blood vessel every time I get an A on a test or exam while, mind you, not studying the material at all! I wouldn’t study, guys! Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a bad boy because I had enough hours of detention assigned to me that it could possibly last for half my life. I wouldn’t hand in my homework. It’s not like I didn’t do it! I’d just forget it on my desk every single, fucking day like the airhead I am! I swear! And Ms. Sally was _this_ close to snapping my neck every time I came up empty. She hated my guts as much as Stan did! But alas, no one could ever come close to the wrath Stan showed. That dude’s like a fucking robot—like, honestly if I ever found out that he’s a secret agent working for the government, I wouldn’t even bat an eye. I’d think: Huh. Okay. Makes sense.

He’s the embodiment of every spy movie. He’s James Bond but ten times better. He’s a little shit but I love him to bits and pieces. Unfortunately, that’s his Achilles heel and kryptonite because no matter how hard he tries to put up an act of how he would kill me in exchange of someone handing him a dollar, he loves me too.

I know. It’s super cute. Let me tell you more about Stan so that I can gain the pleasure of seeing him crouch lower in his seat.

Stan...what can I say about Stan the Man? I guess that’s where I should start. His nickname that I gave him, that he and everyone else hates too because giving nicknames, isn’t really my strong suit. But it still stuck because I’m a persistent fucker. So, Stan. He’s the first best friend I made in my life. Known him since we were in pre-school, when he and I were still picking our noses, except the only difference between us was that Stan tried so hard to pretend he _didn’t_ pick his nose as kids, while I, being me, having no sense of discretion, named my boogers and showed him all of them.

Now, if you guys are wondering how, and why Stan decided to stick being my friend...then let me tell you something. I’ve got no fucking clue either! I couldn’t tell ya! I seriously couldn’t. Maybe it were me, bothering him and following him around, or maybe, just maybe, I made him laugh on the inside. I won him over.

By the way, this one time, I’m really down in the dumps. I’m sobbing because these bullies cornered me, telling me I’m not funny. And Stan finds me with snot down my face and crying a river. And he just hugs me. So tight. He always gave the best hugs. He forces me to tell him why I’m crying. So I tell him and he proceeds to tell me that I’m an idiot because he finds me hilarious.

And now I’m confused. I have never, _ever_ seen Stan laugh, guys! Never! And I’ve known him forever—and yeah, we didn’t see each for around twenty years in between, but, fuck that! I know my best friend. I know him! And I still have never seen Stanley Uris laugh except when it’s to laugh at my complete dumb-foolery.

So, Stan stares at me and says: You know I laugh at every joke you make, right? I’m there, baffled and I really can’t see anything at all through my tears. I’m lost. And I say: No! When the fuck have you ever laughed at some joke I’ve made? And he says: Just this morning I laughed at your dumb joke about milk cartons! Then I say: Stan. The man. What the fuck, dude! You legit didn’t even twitch!

So, yes. Turns out. Stan _is_ a robot. He’s like Captain Holt from _Brooklyn-Nine-Nine_. Better yet, I’m pretty sure Captain Holt was based on Stan. He came first! Stan’s the best, though. Deep down. In that cavity of his chest, there’s a locked box. And inside that locked box, is another one. In there, is the actual key to his heart...The point is...Stan’s the biggest softie on the planet. Don’t let his bitch stare intimidate you.

But he is a bitch, too. His humor is drier than the Sahara.

Since I'd always force him to watch trashy movies with me, he would make me sit through three-hour documentaries about birds just because he wanted to me feel how it felt every time I opened my mouth and blurted out the first thought that my one, single brain cell conjured up. So, yeah, he’s a piece of shit. Also, for the record, hella smarter than me. In the end, paper and meaningless writing on an award don’t define who you are.

You are who you want to be—who you see yourself as. Because that’s all that matters, truly. And yeah, I may be quick on my toes, but it's not all that I am. There's more to me.

Beverly Marsh taught me that lesson— _yeah!_ Give it up for Bev! I know, she’s the coolest. I still find it incredibly difficult to process that I knew her before she became this successful woman, following her dreams. I always knew she’d get into fashion. I remember the outfits she used to design for us on Halloween—she’s the one who designed my Frank N. Furter costume from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_. I know, _I fucking know_. Like how did half the people in town not already guess how fucking gay I was? I think Bev knew, though.

That’s the thing about Stan and Bev. They never outright say anything but they have this annoying habit of seeing under my skin in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Eddie has that ability too. Except he doesn’t shut the fuck up. At all.

But we’re getting into that later.

Bev made all our clothes—and I know what you’re thinking. Why the fuck do I still dress like a tourist on vacation in Hawaii? Again. Barely a clue! But. Bev indulged in my style. She would sometimes make these cute shirts for me that were half in one pattern while the other half was a completely different one. Yes, she thought they were outrageous, and yes she still continued to make them because she’s just that cool. She let me be who I want to be.

Just like on Halloween when I wanted to be Frank N. Furter and just like on Prom, when she had my back, like always. We all went together as a group because none of us could ever imagine getting dates. I mean, _hello!_ Losers! The outcasts! People would rather die. But…not really. It wasn’t so bad in high school. Bill, Bev, and Mike got widely accepted because they’re apparently "charming". And thanks to them, we weren’t bullied so much anymore. Yet, we stuck together. Because Loser’s stick together. No matter what. We’re really cute, aren’t we? Do you now realize why I call these people my family?

So, we decide to go together for Prom and it’s just all of us cramming into Mike’s super old truck that takes ten minutes to actually start-up—but we loved that truck to death. We spent years driving around in that broken down scraps of metal. We'd roll down the windows and sit out back in the open trunk with Beverly, while I somehow, always convinced Eddie to sit with me too. For Prom, we car-pool, of course, and drive up in our pressed suits—oh wait, excuse me. _Ahem_. _They_ rolled up in their pressed suits and ties, and Beverly, respectively, in her green, spaghetti-strapped dress. While I wore a patterned suit that matches my atrocious tees and make a complete and utter, fool of myself.

I looked like the Joker puked on me. Like an entire funhouse just erupted over me. It was the best. But unfortunately, others weren’t cool with that. Henry, as you know, the big bully that constantly never left us alone, picked on me—once again. Ugh. If you're tired of it, just know that it was more exhausting for us all. Thankfully, Beverly was with me then. We’d slipped away for a smoke break outside. _Wink, wink, nudge, nudge_. Let’s just pretend it was only plain cigarettes.

Remember. _Don’t do drugs!_

And out comes Henry Bowers, spewing out the same shit as usual. Blah blah, blah. I couldn’t give a shit. Not really. It’s sad that I honestly got used to it at this point so it was like white noise. Except, he didn’t like that. Not at all. So he’s getting ready to swing at me and you know what Beverly Marsh does? You know what my goddess, empress, light of my life, does?

She raises her foot—and she’s wearing five-inch heels, by the way, guys. _Five-inch!_ Not as long as my dick, of course, but five-fucking inches! She takes all of that and before Henry could even lift a finger, she kicks Henry right in the chicken tenders. _Right in the fucking family jewels!_

I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever felt the blood drain out of my body that quickly in my life and I’d seen some fucked up shit. I felt bad for Henry’s balls! He’s never going to be able to reproduce—and thank fuck for that but holy hell! She was like Hermione from _Prisoner of Azkaban_ when she punched Draco in the face! But this was legendary and a hundred times more badass—so much as so that Henry never bothered me around her again.

Beverly Marsh is the fucking coolest. She’s my hero and role model forever. I’d marry her in a heartbeat. Forget Ben and Eddie! Beverly “Molly Ringwald” is the love of my life.

But of course, we can’t talk about Beverly without discussing Ben Hancom. Oh, Ben. You may know him as the world’s renowned architect—also super fucking successful and hot, but before that, he was Haystack to me. I know, I’m gum on the sole of a shoe, aren’t I? Because how could I ever be mean to sweet Ben? Well, it’s not as incomprehensible as it seems. I’m a Trashmouth so I talk trash about everyone and my real friends know when I’m teasing them or not. It’s my language of love.

Ben understood love better than all of us combined. I’m pretty sure he knew the meaning while we were all still in diapers. Benny boy’s always been ahead of his time, much like Stan and he’d spend his days writing poems about Beverly. I’d always find them in his notebook and from time to time, give him shit for it. His cheeks would become as red as Bev’s hair and he’d be rendered speechless, just a bumbling mess like Bill when he stutters.

He was pretty cool in his own way, though. I should’ve known he’d be an architect because he built this entire clubhouse for us when we were twelve. Can you imagine his talent and dedication? He still is the purest friend I have. Selfless on a level that borderlines as unhealthy. He’s never been angry either. If I haven’t seen Stan laugh, then I haven’t seen Ben angry. That alone should be the reason why he’s the best. He deserves a hundred awards for tolerating me and my shitty attitude.

He made me a better person, you know? In high school, I started going to the library with him. I had never stepped foot inside the place. Barely knew we had one, even! Not until Ben dragged me. Said he wanted to show me these books about ADHD and books that have all these progressive ideas or thoughts—stuff that I couldn’t believe got past the security of Derry. The town was so collectively stuck in time, I’d been shocked to see the information about race, sexuality, and psychology. I had a real interest in that subject, by the way.

In fact, I think if it weren’t for me applying to a film school, I think I would’ve studied psychology—which only circles back to the beginning of this show. It’s sad, truly, to read all about it, to know so much, and still end up like.... _this_. Where the fuck did I go wrong?

Oh, right. Repression. Isn’t that the worst?

Anyway, Ben helped me and maybe he knew about me being head over heels about Eddie. Maybe he didn’t. But he saw me read a book about gay rights and the history of gay movements. Never said a peep about it. Now that I look back on it, I should’ve told him everything. He, of all people, would’ve understood the most. He knew heartbreak. He knew patience.

Which brings us to Mike. The Adonis of a man. I’ve been trying to get a statue of him up in Times Square for months. But _some people_ , apparently, think that’s strange and stupid because he hasn’t done anything worthy of it? Like, what do you mean? How dare you? Micycle stayed in Derry his entire life and you think he hasn’t achieved the right to get his own statue? First of all, what the fuck have _you_ done? What gives you the right to pick and choose?

The man suffered, he stayed back because of our promise, he brought us all back together. He’s just as sweet as Ben because even as his life was hell in Derry for being the only black kid in town, he stayed. He fucking stayed! For the community, to keep everyone safe. He sacrificed his own happiness for others, he's loyal and always the first one on your side, immediately, no questions asked. He’s great. Mike, like Ben, never said “no” and maybe, just maybe, I took advantage of that for my own personal gain. But it was always for a good reason. Like breaking Eddie out of his tower whenever his mom would be a crazy freak. Mike had been the third wheel on our “not-dates” for as long as I can remember. And that’s a feat on its own because if you think I’m bad, Eddie is just as much. Us together? Nope. You do not want to be near that ticking time bomb.

Just the same, Mike continuously went out of his way to help all of us. That guy hit puberty and got ripped long before high school. He was really fit and strong, so he’d make us these healthy drinks that Ben, especially, would appreciate the most. You see, he’d been obsessed with attempting to lose weight in high school. Would not stop at nothing. So, Mike would guide him, would guide me, the boy who kept sour candies in his pockets twenty-four-seven because he’d rather risk the chance of diabetes than eat an apple.

I didn’t say he’d be successful, but fuck if Micycle didn’t try his damned best to look out for us.

Bill is the same. The unspoken leader. There’s actually not much to say about him. I think we should just skip him in general so that we can get to the dessert— _wink, wink_ —Eddie. But, no, I’m just messing because the first rule of Loser’s club is not the same as the first rule of _Fight Club_. It’s way more important than that. Here’s the rule, and you always have to follow it no matter what. It’ll make or break you. Seriously.

And here it is. It’s to always, _always_ make fun of Bill.

Yup.

Just like how the unspoken rule is to have Bill as the leader, there’s also the rule to be merciless with him. He’s so bad, guys. I can’t even get through this without laughing, because he’s just...something else entirely. He’s so easy to tease! He makes it so fun! Don’t even get me started on his books. Because, dude. What the fuck, man. Honestly, what the fuck. They’re so bad, that the first conversation we had when I saw him again, was to completely trash his entire career. Sure he was a bit hurt at first but when everyone else started to pitch in, we immediately fell back into our dynamic. Billy’s always had this sense of home about him. A sense of right, the puzzle piece to make us whole. We’d be nowhere without him. If he hadn’t brought us along on the adventures, hadn’t made us accept who we are, then I’d probably still be in the closet.

But fuck, he’s clueless. Sorry, sorry, I keep laughing. It’s too funny!

You all know how I asked Eddie to come stay with me after the whole reunion last year? Yeah, so I ask Eddie as friends, right? Of course. I wasn’t going to burst out with sonnets and spill the beans about by undying love to Bill about his best friend! Fuck, no. I’ve been trying to be brave but I’m not _that_ brave. And sure, the others figured it out razor quick as soon as they saw me and Eddie together again but Bill...? Not so much.

He’s slow, which is the nicest way to put it, and that’s not even a jab about his stutter!

Even Eddie pieced it all once we got to California and he realized I’m doing all this shit for him. Like, as soon as Eddie agreed, I bought the first house on the market which included a one-floor villa because I knew it would be ages before he’d be able to walk properly. I cleaned our house for him, bought groceries and made him these healthy snacks and gluten-free food because he still thinks he’s weak but it’s okay. I forgive him. We were both trying our best. The point is...even Eddie saw it. And so, when Eddie and I get our shit together and finally, _finally_ become official, Bill still has no clue.

We spent months— _months_ , all over each other. In front of him! All the time! And still, Bill had no fucking idea. To be fair, we never told anyone. We thought we didn’t have to! It was another unspoken agreement. Something that’s been there from the beginning. But.... _Jeez_ , guys. I don’t even know what to say. The only reason he even figured out was because we kissed in front of him and Bill made this little “surprised Pikachu” face and looked around, wondering why everyone was acting like it’s normal.

Because it fucking _is....You idiot!_

It makes my head itch, just thinking about how Mike and him confessed they got the hots for each other. I have to ask how that conversation began and how it all went down. Still, I don’t blame him. He’s a confused man. We love him. It’s not mutually exclusive. And the thing is, though, that it says a lot about Eddie and I’s relationship.

We’re all touchy-feely. Been that way for as long as I can remember. That’s why it probably took Bill forever to realize because I’d go around kissing Ed’s cheeks when we were younger, flirt with him constantly and they all ignored it. So, Bill thinks it’s business as usual. And it definitely is business as usual. The only thing that changed was telling each other we’re hopelessly in love with one another. I still slather myself on Eddie and he still allows me...well...technically it depends on his mood. He can get crabby at times. Especially before we have some place important to be. Don’t even bother touching him.

However, there is no rule. Not when it comes to me. You see, Eddie is a germaphobe. There was a time when the thought of touching repelled him. He’d walk around wearing gloves and shriek when someone would breathe too close to him. Thankfully, he got out of that phase really quickly. But it’s different with me because he’d always let me touch him. Maybe not in the beginning, because it took him a while before he accepted my presence around him. I know, I make myself sound like a pile of dirt, which is _completely_ called for. I was messier as a kid, and I don’t know what that says about me now. It's a wonder Eddie was crushing on me back then. He knew where my hands had been and how long I went without showering. That's true love.

Eddie let me touch him. I remember feeling this ache inside me. This burning fire that lit up. A warmth whenever I would just feel his skin on mine. Not just sexually, because we were children and both so far deep inside the closet but...just in general. Like when we were on the hammock. The two of us swinging and legs intertwined. Eddie would yell about me being dirty but then totally contradict his repulsed feelings by pressing himself against me. That fiend would rest his hand on my knee and I’d pop a boner—and not only dick-wise. My heart would get a boner. Because I achieved something no one else does: the ability to touch Eddie and to be touched _by him_. The only other person he’d feel comfortable with this sort of stuff was Stan, but only because he was just as OCD and anal-retentive about germs as he were.

So you can only imagine how my little heart went a-flutter when Ed’s would be around me, driving me batshit. Eddie...by far, is my favorite person in the world. I told him so when we were teenagers, sharing a bottle of wine I stole from my parent’s cabinet—which, I think, is the only reason why Eddie agreed with me and told me I was his favorite person too. I could’ve kissed him then. If I’d been brave enough. Alas, even the liquid courage couldn’t help.

But it took a long time to get here and I wouldn’t change it. Ed’s was too much of a hypochondriac as kids. He’d freak out about everything and I would too. We both would’ve fucked it up. I just realized that Eddie would’ve probably kicked my ass—and that's the funniest thing. He’s small but the rage inside is fierce.

I’m talking about the guy who stood up to his insane mother at the age of twelve, and way before that, made countless adults nearly piss their pants and cry their eyes out. Honestly! As children, we’d buy ice-cream from the ice-cream truck and the guy would get my order wrong, giving me chocolate instead of vanilla. And Ed’s wouldn’t have it. He wouldn’t let it go! I kept insisting to forgive and forget. It’s ice-cream! Worth less than a dollar! But not for Eddie. He made a grown-ass man turn whiter than a sheet of paper. He yelled at him for five minutes, lecturing about our customer rights. And mind you, Ed’s was eight-years-old!

Now just take that energy and replace it in the time we went out for dinner a week ago. The waiter messes up my order, and I already know what’s coming the second he asks if everything is good. Eddie erupts! His face becomes purple and a little vein on his neck that I call Penny, pops out and there's spit coming out of his mouth and onto that poor waiter’s face. As I sit there, covering my own face with my hands and being so fucking grateful that no one can see my dick trying to burn a hole through my jeans.

God, I adore him. _So fucking much_. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s him that I love. Other days, it makes absolute sense. The thing about Eddie is that he’s on my side before anyone else is. He knows exactly what to say to me. He never takes crap and doesn’t let me take crap either. We’re real with one another and he gives it as good as he can take it.

Eddie saved my life countless times. He wouldn’t even have to do anything, sometimes. Just stand there, right beside me is all I ever needed. I think even if I never told him how I feel, I’d be happy with what I had. He makes me want to be a better person and not just for others. For myself. Because you have to be selfish sometimes. Eddie taught me that since I never take care of my mental health or hygiene and all the stuff that I should be doing as a normal, functioning adult. I barely have the courage to ask a waiter to bring me the food that I actually ordered, for God’s sake.

However...maybe. Just maybe, I don’t stand up for myself as much around Eddie because I like it when he does it for me. I never told him this and he’s here in the crowd....and...I want him to be happy. He’s spent his entire life being taken care of, so he loves taking care of me instead. Because he takes care of me, I like to take care of him. Properly. Not in the over-bearing way his mother used to. Because that’s not love.

Love is what I suppose the message of this show is...the message I want the audience to take home and implement themselves. I love my friends—hell, what am I saying? They aren’t even my friends. They’re my family. And at the end of the day, family is anyone you can lean back on. It doesn’t have to be blood because blood isn’t thicker than water. Fuck that proverb. The medieval people can shove it where it don’t shine. 

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my prime age, it’s that anyone can be family. And time, bullshit or whatever doesn’t matter. I didn’t see my friends for over twenty years and when we reunited, it was as if we never stopped talking in the first place. Sometimes that happens with people you’ve never met. Patricia Blum Uris is an example of that. We all call her Patty and she calls Stan, babylove—you just _know_ I give him absolute shit for that. 

And yeah, Stan got hitched! Apparently, they’ve been married for seventeen years? They have a family, too! A son, Teddy, who _definitely_ sized me up when we met, and now a daughter, Minnie who’s full of life. Yes, I totally bawled my eyes out when I met them all, and yes I got whiplash when I saw Teddy because he’s just like his father. They have the same humor and personality down to a T. It was like seeing a ghost. A doppelgänger. And after Eddie consoled me trough my mini-breakdown and began re-evaluating his life choices and his dumb-fuckery for falling in love with a lame person such as me, I went up to Patty and I gave her a real talking to. 

How dare she take my man from me! 

Stan, turns out, is not the man after all. Because he and I had a pact! He was my last resort for a chance at marriage! But. Of course, that was all before he found his soulmate and before I could ever hope for the possibility of Eddie returning my feelings.

She’s pretty cool. I knew the second I laid eyes on her, she’s perfect for Stan. He’s perfect for _her_. I pretty much ditched Stan and the others because I fell in love with her and her secretly devious side. She spilled all the deets on him for blackmail and we all know that’s the way to my heart. She’s so cool, that I spent an entire night talking to her on their living room couch while the other Losers decided to be boring old people and pass the fuck out. At that time, Eddie and I weren’t together and you know what this woman does? She listens to me whine about Eddie for hours and hours. About his eyes and his abs, his karate chop thing he does when he’s pissed and how he always smiles at me when he thinks I’m not looking at him. Patty barely knew me and she accepted me— _us_ , just as easily as we accepted her. In my books, she’s a Loser too. 

We’re Losers and Losers stick together. So, if you all are here, listening to me ramble on about my life and actually give a shit, then maybe that makes you a Loser too. I guess what I’m trying to say is that...this entire thing was an initiation and now you’re one of us. And, hey. The best part about being a Loser is…you got nothing to lose.

Welcome to the Loser’s Club, assholes! There’s no going back now.

**Author's Note:**

> I totally got the inspiration for the title from Power Rangers. You know if you know.  
> I also, couldn't help myself for including another Buffy reference.  
> 


End file.
